


The Rise of Rando

by Skirdus



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Violence, Gang Violence, Gen, Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mild Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 16:18:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7539457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skirdus/pseuds/Skirdus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rando is a beacon of goodness in the insidious wasteland of Olathe. One might expect a person of his nature to die off fairly quickly given the ruthlessness of Olathe's inhabitants, but with his physical strength alone an unparalleled beast, he is a force to be reckoned with among forces to be reckoned with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rise of Rando

**Author's Note:**

> Since everyone wanted to know the story of Rando's rise to power as one of the most powerful men in Olathe, I figured I'd try and give my take on it! The result might surprise you, but you'll have to read and find out.

He was a man without an army. He was a man without friends. He was alone, and with only his own biting solitude to comfort him in this newfound world of rage, misanthropy and nonsensical violence brought about by the White Flash that he had somehow endured with such ease, Rando knew that whatever tribulations he'd previously faced would be nothing when put before the future that approached him all too swiftly. The only sounds present to accompany the man were that of his farouche footsteps through the cobalt dust and the violent winds that would have reaped his body were it not for the scarlet skull mask and ebony silken garb that protected him. Beneath the latter lay hidden the physique of a strong and powerful champion who could have easily had his way with all of Olathe were dreams of grandeur his own, yet beneath the former was a visage that the term _scarred_ would do no justice.

Whatever thoughts pervaded his mind were interrupted by the sudden yet distant roaring of engines. There had to be at least five of them, and whatever vehicles they powered were approaching Rando from behind. With curiosity in place of rational fear, he gradually turned to face whatever it was that was headed his way. Accompanied by a much more prominent cluster of the same noise, from within the azure fog emerged a quintet of motorcycles and their respective riders. Before Rando could gently move himself from what appeared to be their intended path, the machines began to divert from their course, circling around him in a fashion not unsimilar to sharks. The rubber wheels that ground against the earth kicked up a generous amount of blue sand that only addled the situation. He didn't wanted to dizzy himself, so Rando did not make the effort to spin in the same direction as the cycles, simply looking on as they began to slowly close in on him. Once the circle's radius reached approximately 12 feet, the bikers began to slow their vehicles until each had reached a full stop. Rando then looked from rider to rider as they each dismounted their bikes and began to unveil crude yet dangerous weaponry, ranging from primitive clubs to deadly swords and machetes. Their apparent leader, a man in a black helmet who, surprisingly enough, was the only unarmed member of the gang, approached Rando, his intent all too malicious given the way he and his fellow bikers had introduced themselves to what was to be their next victim.

In a gruff tone, he barked a simple yet threatening command, "Alright, bonehead. Hand over your valuables if you don't want your blood to stain the ground beneath your feet."

It took great courage to respond given the impediment that made him seem so weak, yet somehow Rando found himself able to muster it just this once, "I... I-I, um... I d-don't really h-have any-"

He was cut off by laughter from at least half the group, their leader among them. Hysterical cries of "He... he sounds so freakin' pathetic!" and "Is there a bunny rabbit under all that armor?!" erupted from the bikers before the man who'd spoken first silenced them with an abrupt, silent and commanding gesture. Rando held back a tear or two.

Their leader spoke once more, "I sincerely hope you've got a pair of balls under that shawl of yours, or this evening might turn a bit... _pleasurable_ for us..." Devious snickers came from his followers while a mere snort came from the leader himself. Rando silently shuddered, his hands apprehensively tugging at the underside of his cloak. "Look," affirmed the other, "do you have anything on you or not? Give it here, or we'll just go ahead and take it from your corpse."

In a delicate motion, Rando glanced off to the side for just a moment. This came prior to the realization of just what it was he had to spare. Reaching for a sizeable bag that was attached to the belt beneath his silk garment, he proceeded to untether and open it. Rando set the satchel onto the ground and took a few steps back, allowing it to be unsheathed out from under his cloak. He made a subtle and silent gesture towards it, unwilling to speak once more for the time being.

A low growl escaped the gang's leader, and he knelt down to inspect the bag's contents. Inside, he found smaller bags; a discovery that only grew his dormant frustration. Within those bags, he found, were a variety of foodstuffs ranging from sandwiches to small bottles of juice to chocolate chip cookies, causing the man to knit his brows. With another gesture, he beckoned a few of his own men over to inspect Rando's tribute alongside him. They too found themselves puzzled in the face of their leader's findings. Slowly, he looked from the bag to Rando with an expression beneath his helm that relayed discontent.

"This is it?" the man sneered, "This is all you've got? Food?" In response, Rando nodded solemnly, as if he himself was upset with being unable to provide the group with more. Their leader hissed as he rose, kicking the bags aside and spilling their contents all over the ground (an action that upset Rando dearly). Vehemently, he proclaimed, "I doubt it, bucko. Let's beat him down, boys!"

The gang mirthfully began to close the distance between themselves and Rando, their weapons raised towards the cloaked man who proceeded to back away from them - not out of fear, but the desire to refrain from harming them. This desire urged him to speak once more, though his voice bore the same piteousness as it did prior, "P-please, I... I-I don't want to f-f-fight...!"

They laughed once more, and their leader spoke for them, "Tough shit, boy. Liars don't get what they want!" These were the last words spoken before the deafening silence that was violence consumed the six of them.

One of the men lunged at Rando, attempting to viciously tear through his cloak with a spiked mace. Rando responded by dodging the attempted assault, causing said biker to accidentally club one of his allies instead. The weapon's nails raked through his flesh, causing blood to spill from exposed viscera and a scream of agony to escape the victim's mouth. As the mace's owner gave a soft hiss of regret, another gang member leaped for Rando in hopes of cutting straight through his mask with a machete. Rando just so happened to lean to the side in that very moment, unwittingly causing his assailant to impale himself on the crimson spikes of Rando's shoulderpads and subsequently howl in pain. The attacker survived the ordeal, but found that upon his feet coming in contact with the ground once more, he had a number of bloody permeations in his abdomen, causing him to stumble for a few moments before collapsing into the dirt. The leader and another member simply gawked at Rando, dumbfounded by how skillfully nimble such an apparent brute could be. The two remaining subordinates then executed their instantaneous plan of charging Rando from opposite sides of him. Just as they prepared to embed their weapons into the cloaked man, Rando performed a sudden yet massive leap that landed him right behind one of the men. He didn't have to take the time to disarm them himself however, as they and their respective armaments collided with one another, causing them both to fall to the ground with a handful of wounds along their flesh.

The thud that followed Rando's landing knocked the gang's leader off his feet and onto his lower half and palms. Shaking off the pain, he glared up at what should have been an imposing figure that now loomed overtop him. Nevertheless, he quickly stood and attempted to drive his fist into Rando's shawl, an enraged cry preceding the action of Rando's own fist colliding with the man's chest and knocking him to the ground. All five bikers were now unconscious, most laying in small pools of blood that time only grew. Rando looked around at the mess he'd inadvertently played a part in creating, a frown gracing his mangled visage as he began to, one by one, pick up the inert men.

 

It was the bikers' leader who first awoke from the ordeal that he himself could at this point hardly recall. As his vision became more clear, he realized that his trademark helmet was missing and he was no longer outside, but rather, within a surprisingly tidy grotto. His chest hurt like hell, but he was most certainly alive. Gazing at his new surroundings, he soon found that his men were also present, though they were still out cold. Bloodied bandages now covered their previously exposed wounds. The cave's only source of illumination came from a small fire that was but half a dozen feet away from each man. The leader took deep breaths, attempting to take in more of the environment, but he soon began to hear a consistent thudding from an unlit portion of the cavern that was starting to grow louder. Something large was coming closer.

In spite of the pain it caused him to do so, the leader rose to his feet and took on a combat-ready stance. He might have been a nefarious character, but he was still loyal to his men and would protect them from whatever it was that now approached them. To his surprise, the source of the noise was none other than Rando himself, seemingly unscathed from the skirmish all six of them had been a part of.

"Y-you?!" The leader snarled, his fists just as balled as they were before, "W-what the fuck... this... you...?!"

He could only stammer senseless assortments of words as Rando continued to walk towards him. With his veiled head, Rando gestured back towards where the leader had been sleeping, a meek "R-rest..." his gentle and only command.

Confusion drove the other to berate Rando, whose motives he couldn't begin to comprehend. "I... what?! You... kicked our asses! W-why the fuck...?"

Ignorant of the man's scorn, Rando shook his masked visage and spoke softly, "Y-you're hurt... You n-need to rest..."

The leader bit down on his own tongue, glaring up at and slowly backing away from Rando. "I don't... I don't understand..." he said, glancing over to his patched up men and then back towards the other, "...Why? We... tried to rob you - to _kill_ you!"

Although he nodded in seeming agreement, Rando's words shocked the bikers' leader, "T-that's okay... That's your n-normal. I... I f-forgive you..."

The other just stood there, mouth slightly agape as he lowered himself to the ground. He'd never met anyone so nice even _prior_ to the White Flash. Despite how fractured and warped his moral compass was, to try and assault Rando now let alone succeed in doing so would weigh him down with too much sin for him to go on living. Thus, he simply sat there in astonishment, oblivious to Rando doing the same across from him.

"W-what... what's your n-name...?" Rando inquired, canting his head ever so slightly.

"...Clint Moss."

 

As days passed, the bikers reluctantly found themselves in Rando's care, their wounds and overall emotional health being tended to on a daily basis. Perhaps it was indeed a form of Stockholm Syndrome that gripped them in the coming week, but they couldn't help but admire the divine nobility and kindness that Rando possessed. After they'd made a full recovery, it wasn't long before they pledged their loyalty to Rando out of a desire to protect such an exceptionally benevolent soul, to which he responded with flattered acceptance. Clint Moss came to serve as Rando's prime subordinate, willing to carry out all and every command his coy superior gave him.

Time went on, and with it the amount of Rando's followers only increased in size. Those who desired to serve him often did so for a number of reasons, ranging from the same desire that had drawn in the first five that joined Rando to being a part of something not unsimilar to a family to simply wanting to survive the harshness that was Olathe. Unfortunately, not all who wanted to serve chose to do so with the same demeanor as Rando himself, and it was all too frequent that some would find that the chain of command in Rando's Army was inverted in the sense that the higher up you went, the more congenial members were found to be. However, no matter how kind they were, all were bound to Rando's word; that which was, unfortunately, seldom heard.


End file.
